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“You blocked my number.”

He says it like flying across two states to talk to me when I made it clear I didn’t want to hear from him is a perfectly logical choice to make.

“Did you stop to consider there might be a reason for that?”

The ghost of a smile flashes across his face. “It may have occurred to me, yes.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“You still thought it was okay to fly your dragon ass all the way out here to harass me?”

Blair finally pushes to his feet, brushing some of the grass off his body. I don’t mean to look, I really don’t, but the flash of those scales is like a fricken fishing lure, and I’m the stupid trout who can’t keep her eyes to herself.

Goddamn it, I’ve missed the sight of him.

Not that I should even admit that to myself, but apparently my body hasn’t gotten the message I hate him now and I’m no longer interested in fucking him. My hands ache to reach out and touch, and that stubborn, cursed thing in my chest is whispering what a great idea it would be to step closer, wrap my arms around his waist, and press my cheek into the golden warmth of his chest.

Blair must be able to clock at least a little of that on my face, because the ghost of his smile is back as he replies.

“Like I said, I came to see you. We need to talk.”

“Talk?”

“Yes. Talk. About what happened. About—”

“I have absolutely nothing to talk about with you.”

“Em—”

“No,” I interrupt him again. “It’s been weeks, Blair. I’ve moved on.”

Apparently he’s not too happy with the idea of that, because a displeased grumble kicks up in his chest.

“Moved on?”

“Not with anyone else,” I snap at him. “I just mean from this. From us. From the Bureau. I’m done with it.”

“I’m not.”

And just like that, I can’t take this conversation anymore. I can’t take him anymore. All this certainty. All this conviction. All thesewords. Where was any of it before?

And that’s not even saying anything about the fact that all the reasons this was such a shitty idea from the beginning are still as true as ever.

“And you think you just get to decide?” I demand. “You think you can just show back up and what? I’ll forgive you? Forget about everything that happened?”

“No, Kenna, I don’t,” he says solemnly. “I intend to spend as many months or years or decades as I need to making it up to you.”

Months or years or decades. God. Why does he have to be so fucking cruel? There’s no need to rub it in like this.

“Yeah,” I say, feeling broken and raw and needing to lash out. “Until you decide you’re done with me again.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Not going to happen, ember.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

His mouth snaps shut, and the flash of pain in his eyes as he gives me a quick nod almost gets to me. Almost. Because I’m not that damn weak. I’m not. I swear I’m not.